Gonna wash that Winter right outta' my hair

Candlemas. Imbolc. Oimelc. Brigid. Brighnasadh. First Spring. The Sabbat so nice we named it, like, a dozen times.

The holiday rolled around in the middle of a very nice warm spurt here in Texas with crisp mornings, hot afternoons and chilly nights. Not quite Spring yet, but the Old Lass is starting to show her legs and is thinking about getting her toenails painted a frivolous shade of pink.

Candlemas rolled in just as I was scheduled to begin the Fire period of a series of elemental workings. I didn't really time it that way, it just synced up rather nicely.

My Candlemas wasn't very fancy. I did a lot of Spring cleaning, throwing out a lot of emotional baggage with the unwanted and nonredeemable. I burned evergreen leaves and carried the smoke through the house. I lit candles in every room and bathed in ice cold salt-water. I sat vigil with a burning votive nestled in a bowl of ice. I welcomed Brigid, a Goddess who seems very elusive to me, and poured milk and left bread beneath my favorite tree. And then I began my work with Fire.

The Air period was extremely productive. In the course of the workings, I wrote numerous invocations and spells. I drafted and tested several incense recipes. I read a lot of books. I started a new journal. I bought a glorious peacock fan. 

I also realized how much I missed having a writing outlet.

You may have noticed, if you pay any attention to this space, that it was gone for awhile. I had every intention of deleting it and letting it remain deleted. I was tired of blogging. Tired of silly Pagans and their silly Pagan drama. 

But working only with Air for a period of time, and returning to my daily devotions and practices after a much needed mental health break, the nagging voice in the back of my mind was extremely firm about me getting back to this writing thing.

I hope that the new life beginning to pulse in the Land, and in me, will mean some interesting blog content here again.  We shall see.